Hanging by a Thread
by xxbabewithbrainsxx
Summary: When Katie stumbled into The Hog's Head one cold, snowy December night, the last person she expected to see behind the bar was Oliver Wood. Katie/Oliver, with mentions of Katie/Leanne. Dark and smutty in places. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Katie Bell was drunk.

Well, she realised as her legs suddenly gave way beneath her and she only just managed to stay upright by grabbing hold of a nearby lamppost, "drunk" was a bit of an understatement. "Pissed out of her brains" was probably closer to the truth. Her mind was so foggy with alcohol that she could barely see straight, let alone walk in a straight line, and it was a wonder that she hadn't fallen face-first into the pavement already, because she was certainly heading that way.

And yet she was glad because then she didn't have to think about _her._ That, at least, made things better, even if the relief Katie felt was only temporary. She knew, as soon as she was sober, that _she _would swim into her mind again, but at least she had the comfort of knowing she would have a few hours of blissful oblivion before the truth stabbed her in the heart once more.

It was getting dark already, but it was impossible to tell what time it was. She didn't know exactly what time of year it was, either, only that judging by the bitterly cold wind whipping her cheeks and the snow dampening her hair and thin cloak, it was probably around Christmas. Not that Hogsmeade looked particularly festive. Even more shops were boarded up than she could remember, and The Three Broomsticks had been much quieter than usual. There were people there, yes, but there was no drunken laughter, no clever banter between whoever was brave enough to flirt with Madam Rosmerta, no warmth.

The air had been so cold, so tense in The Three Broomsticks that Katie had left soon after she felt she was being watched by several hooded people who had been sitting in the corner of the bar. Somehow, even though she was very, very drunk, the tiny, sober part of her mind had sensed that there was something wrong.

So she had gone. The streets were quiet, just as quiet as the pub: a few people going about their business, but no one speaking to each other, and she wondered once again what on earth she was even doing there. She hadn't been to Hogsmeade in a long time, not after she had been cursed the year before. Certainly, she didn't know where she was going now, only that she would have to keep walking, at least until she was sure she wasn't being followed and, preferably, had reached another pub so she could get another drink. Checking behind her to see if anyone was following, she continued unsteadily up the path, lightly dusted with snow, and to her relief, she finally caught sight of a square of bright yellow light, gleaming in the darkness a few metres ahead.

* * *

It was busier in the Hog's Head than Oliver expected it to be. He wasn't exactly happy about it, not when some of the patrons didn't even bother to pay for their drinks and every single person looked like they were hiding something. Oliver was darkly suspicious of practically everyone, especially given the rumours he was hearing about the Snatchers and the number of people continuously disappearing. But, as his employer told him, customers were customers. _And even in a war, you need money_, Aberforth Dumbledore had added.

It wasn't the best pay in the world, but it was all Oliver could manage after leaving Puddlemere. He refused to accept money from his mother, who was struggling enough as it was on her own, and he had been estranged from his uncles and aunts for years anyway, so he needed this job, dodgy punters be damned.

Even so, despite the fact that he was usually prepared for the unpredictable, the last person he expected to walk through the door was Katie Bell.

He was in the middle of polishing a glass when she stumbled in, and he was so taken by surprise that he almost dropped it. After placing it carefully on the counter, he took a deep breath, and he couldn't help but watch her from a distance as she took a seat at the end of the bar, resting her elbows on the surface and burying her face into her hands.

She was no longer the vibrant, colourful Katie that Oliver remembered from his school days; there was something inexplicably blurred about her features. Still, he would have recognised those eyes anywhere. Her cheeks were pink, not from the cold, Oliver suspected, but from drink. Judging from by the way she had bumped into several people before managing to reach the bar, she certainly was far from sober.

At that moment, he was jolted out of his reverie by a man waving his hand in front of Oliver's face. "Oi, can I get some service 'ere?"

"Yes, sir, sorry. What can I get you?" Oliver asked automatically.

"One large Firewhisky. Make it quick."

Once he had poured the drink and accepted the money, Oliver looked around. The pub had quieted a little, so, tentatively, he made his way towards Katie. He was surprised that she hadn't noticed him yet. But maybe she had, only she didn't want to say anything. Or, perhaps, she was too drunk to care either way.

"Katie?" he said when he was close enough to catch her attention.

She immediately sat up. "Oliver?"

"Yeah," he said, feeling stupid and insignificant for a moment.

"What are... what are _you_ doing here?"

Sense kicking in, he grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the sink underneath the bar. "I could ask you the same question. Drink up."

But she just started laughing a horrible, humourless laugh that made his toes curl. "Please. I'm drunk." She stabbed his chest with her finger to punctuate her speech. "And I fully intend on getting _drunker_, so don't you fucking dare give me fucking _water_."

He leaned forward, trying to remain calm even though his heart had dropped to his stomach. Aware of the eyes on them both, he said as quietly as possible, "You should be more careful."

"Psh!" she said loudly, and he groaned inwardly; several more people turned to stare. "You don't need to... to give me a lecture, Ollie. I'm a big girl. Don't be so fucking pato — pat — patro — patronisey."

"It isn't safe to be wandering around on your own," he hissed back, trying his utmost to keep his voice down.

"Why?" she demanded. "Not like I'm a Muggleborn or anything—"

"It doesn't matter," he told her, still in hushed tones. "No one's safe right now. Not unless you have the fucking Dark Mark on your arm. And even then — look, where do you live? Do you have anyone who can pick you up?"

"Do I _have_ anyone?" she repeated, laughing, but again, there was nothing humorous about her situation. Even her inebriated smile looked painted on. It certainly didn't meet her eyes. "I've never _had_—"

"Wait ten minutes and I'll Apparate you home, then," he whispered urgently. "Look, Katie, you can't be alone."

"Aren't you even going to give me a drink?"

"I've given you one," he said shortly, pointing at the water. "You need to sober up. Please. Curfew is in—" he checked his watch "—fifteen minutes. If you're not out by then, you're stuck here for the night, unless you want to set off the Caterwauling Charm, and fuck knows what will happen then."

"There's always the Knight Bus," she pointed out.

He shook his head. "Not a fucking chance. Don't be stupid, Katie. The Snatchers will mug you — or worse. You must know that."

She pouted, looking for a moment like she wanted to argue with him, but to his surprise, she finally nodded in acquiescence. "Fine."

Letting out a deep breath of relief, he moved to the next customer, and then the next, and then the next, before going upstairs to let Aberforth know he was leaving. Then, after grabbing his cloak, he went back to where Katie was sitting, downing a Gillywater.

"Hey, give me that!" he said angrily, snatching the bottle from her.

"Tastes like shit anyway," Katie slurred. "Should've got a Firewhisky instead."

"I thought I told you to sober up."

"Yeah, because you _really_ can tell me what to do," Katie retorted. "Who the fuck are you, anyway, ordering me around — I haven't seen you in years, damn it, and I—" She broke off, trying to get to her feet, but it was proving impossible, because when she stood up, she wobbled so badly that she had to grab her stool to stop herself from falling. He rushed over to her, placing his arm around her shoulders and holding her upright. Thankfully, everyone was leaving now, and he hoped they could leave the pub unnoticed.

His tone softened somewhat as he said, "We'll go through the back door, yeah?" She nodded, her eyes closed, and she wound her arm tightly around his waist for support. "That's it... come on..."

Slowly, they made their way outside. Snow was falling in earnest now, and he shivered, even with his cloak on.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

She told him an address. He had never been to that part of London before, but he hoped he would be able to get them there safely nonetheless. Taking her arm, he screwed his eyes shut and turned on the spot.

They landed with a thump, and before Oliver could so much as take in his surroundings, Katie pushed him away, bent over and threw up on the pavement. He recoiled a little, but then he stepped forward and held her hair back, though it was useless, really, because he could already see the vomit in her thick black tangle.

"It's okay," he said, speaking up a little to make himself heard above the howling wind. He rubbed her back in what he hoped was a calming motion, not stopping until she finally stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Fucking hell," she muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Let's get you home," he repeated.

"I can make my own way," Katie started, but he shook his head firmly.

"There is no _way_ I'm letting you go anywhere in this state. Where's your key?"

She impatiently brushed away the tears on her cheeks, rummaging in her pocket, and it was only then that he properly looked around. They were standing in front of what he assumed was a council estate, and he winced, because it was far from pleasant. It looked like the kind of flat where people would piss in the lifts and spray graffiti on people's doors.

"Found it," she said finally. He nodded encouragingly, and she stepped forward, pressing the key against the reader.

The door opened, and Oliver murmured, "After you."

Once she was inside, he discreetly pointed his wand at the puddle of sick on the pavement and thought "_Evanesco_" before following her. She was already waiting in the lift, and when Oliver entered, she moved as far from him as possible, ensuring her back was to him. Ignoring this but slightly exasperated nevertheless, he asked, "Which floor?"

"Third."

The journey upwards seemed to go on forever, and when they finally got out, Katie led the way, opening her door and immediately kicking a pizza box out of the threshold before she could get in.

"Sorry about the mess," she mumbled as he entered the living room and took a seat on the sofa.

He shook his head. "Have you eaten anything? Can I make something for you, maybe?"

For the first time, as she collapsed on the armrest, something close to a real smile flickered on her lips. "You can cook? When did that miracle happen and how come I wasn't invited?"

"Not particularly well," he admitted. "Toast and pot noodle and stuff."

"That doesn't count," she told him, still with that indulgent smile on her face, but it dissipated ever so slightly as she muttered, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice level as she reached out and touched his cheek. He tried, ever so gently, to remove her hand, but he was finding it difficult to think as it was. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. I'll..." He hesitated before continuing, "I'll take care of you."

"Will you?" The uncertainty in her eyes was unbearable to see, and he stopped trying to prise her off for a moment, wanting, more than anything, for her to understand that he was there for her and that everything would be all right.

"Yeah," he told her. "I will. You'll be fine, Katie," he repeated.

The smile that had warmed up her whole face suddenly disappeared, and up close, he could see her eyes glaze over. "Ollie," she murmured, her other hand on his chest, against his now swiftly beating heart, "when did you become..." She paused; her palm had slid downwards to his belly, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, and he closed his eyes, cursing inwardly. "When did you become... so... hot?"

"Katie—" he began, but an involuntary groan left his lips as she reached up and kissed him, and though he winced a little at the vomit he could taste on her breath, he could not bring himself to stop her from parting his lips with her tongue. It was only when she slid off the armrest and into his lap, however, that he finally pushed her away.

"No, Katie, stop," he told her. "This isn't right. You're drunk—"

"Doesn't matter," Katie mumbled. "Not when... not when you want me."

"I don't," he lied.

"Yes you do," she insisted, her hand moving down, and he almost lost control; her lips were far too close to his for comfort, and after a moment of struggling, he extricated himself, his cheeks reddening, and turned his back on her.

"For fuck's sake!" he hissed. "Katie, please, you need to sleep it off."

"Oh, yeah, send me to bed like I'm a fucking kid—"

"I don't think you're a kid at all," he interrupted firmly. Slowly, he turned around, and he said as gently as he could, "I think — no, I _know_ that you are very drunk, that you're not in the right mind at the moment and that you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do when you're sober. But right now, please, _please_ go to bed."

* * *

For a second, Katie felt like arguing with him, but then she remembered the stash of whisky in her bedroom. If she could get up there without him, she would at least be able to drink herself to sleep and hopefully not dream.

Not for the first time, she wished she could afford a Dreamless Sleeping Draught, but even on the black market, it was expensive. At least she could scrounge drinks off people for free — she could with Muggles, anyway. It was a mistake going to Hogsmeade tonight. She should've gone to a Muggle pub instead.

So she nodded wearily, not even bothering to stop Oliver from taking her to her room. After all, he wouldn't go in with her, not after the fucking stunt she had just pulled. Godric, what the hell was she thinking? Or, rather, why _wasn't_ she thinking? He was a friend. A good friend, even though she hadn't seen him in years and had no idea why he was working in The Hog's Head, of all places, when last time she checked, he was with Puddlemere United.

And Oliver wasn't some random Muggle in some trashy Muggle club in the back end of East London with bad music (but cheap drinks). No. He was... well, he was _Oliver_. And yet, somehow, he had just let her stick her tongue down his throat like that. He didn't deserve that, not in the slightest — but then, he didn't need to take her home, either, and he still did. Surely he wouldn't have done that if he hadn't cared about her?

He probably thought her a lush, a fucking alcy — he didn't care for her. No. If he felt anything for her, it was pity. That was all.

They had reached her room, and the hallway started swimming, so she closed her eyes and tried her utmost to focus on what Oliver was saying.

"...you'll be all right?"

"Yeah," she squeaked. "Oliver, you don't have to..."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't have any plans? Even just to go home?"

He laughed quietly. "Please. I live in a bedsit. The toilet is practically my pillow and I sleep with my feet in the fridge."

"I see."

"And my shift won't start until midday tomorrow. I'm fine staying here, keeping an eye on you. If you don't mind."

"I don't mind. Thank you," she added, and she hoped he knew she meant it. But when she took a step forward (she wasn't sure why — to hug him?), she was sure he took a wary step back, and she felt the crushing weight of her own self-pity thud down onto her heart. She didn't say anything, though; instead, she turned away, slipping into her room.

It was a mess as usual, with clothes covering the floor so thoroughly that she could not see a square inch of carpet anywhere, but thankfully, her bed was free from clutter for once. She was momentarily tempted to just fall onto the covers, because it looked so inviting, and she was so tired, but she thought better of it, remembering the cold sweat, the tears, the terror, the last time she had done that.

Reaching down, Katie retrieved a bottle from under her bed. It felt heavy in her hands and she nearly dropped it; her fingers trembled so badly that she had to use her wand to finally open the bottle.

Alcohol was not an addiction for Katie. That was what she told herself, anyway. At any rate, she hated the taste of it, particularly whisky, but it helped her forget. It made her black out and created a welcome black hole in her mind, even if it was only a temporary escape from the ever-present walls of guilt that threatened to crush her at any second.

Grimacing, she took a long glug of it, trying her utmost not to gag as a mixture of vomit and alcohol swirled around in her mouth. But she gagged anyway, and some of the drink dribbled down her chin. Unable to fight back the tears, she gulped it down, taking several long, deep breaths, and then she drank some more, only stopping when she felt blissful dizziness threaten to overcome her. She just managed to place the bottle on the floor before she dropped off to sleep, forgetting about the war, about Oliver and most of all — albeit momentarily — about Leanne.


	2. Chapter 2

_"It's going to be weird without you breathing down my neck, you know," Katie remarked, raising her voice a little to be heard over the clamour of the commuters at King's Cross station. _

_"Believe me, you'll forget I was even there," Oliver replied, managing to muster a smile. _

_For some reason, her voice shook a little as she said, "Y-you'll keep in touch, won't you?"_

_"Yeah," he told her without a moment's hesitation. "'Course I will."_

_"You'll have to keep me posted when you get signed by Puddlemere—"_

_"_If_ I get signed," Oliver corrected._

_"You will. Just watch." She paused, glanced over his shoulder and waved to someone behind him. "Listen, I've got to go. Mum's waiting."_

_"I'm going to miss you," he blurted out before he could stop himself._

_"Aw, me too," she said, tilting her head to one side slightly, as if she were considering him. She held out her arms and he automatically stepped forward and hugged her, trying not to think of anything untoward as they embraced. She was only fifteen, after all… it wasn't proper of him, not at all. He let her go and the station began to fade, the steam from the train obscuring Oliver's vision and making it even harder for him to think…_

When Oliver awoke, muttering and cursing, to a crick in his neck, he felt as bewildered as he had done last night. Questions upon questions seethed in his tired mind. Why was Katie Bell wandering around, on her own, in The Hog's Head, of all places? And why had she been so off her face that she had _kissed_ him?

He had thought those feelings — on his part, at least — were long since buried by now. It had never amounted to anything anyway, and he had always berated himself for thinking about Katie such a way. Oliver had always assumed that Katie regarded him as nothing more than her mad, gruelling Quidditch Captain as well as, perhaps, her friend. But nothing more.

Now, though, things had changed. Of course, Oliver told himself, it was only because she was drunk. The alcohol had been talking last night, nothing else, and her drunkenness was the sole reason for her literally falling into his lap, her lips glued to his and her hands everywhere — not because she wanted him. Of course not.

Yawning and trying to banish the thought from his mind, he managed to get up off the sofa and into the kitchen, still uncomfortable from where he had slept. An unpleasant smell lingered in the air, and after looking in the bin, he realised she probably hadn't thrown it out for ages. The fridge, when he opened it, also had the same, slightly sweet, decaying smell to it. Oliver tried his best, holding his nose, opening the bin and Vanishing the contents before doing the same with the fridge. He had never been the best at cleaning spells, but even so, his clumsy _"Scourgify" _at least got rid of the grime that had formed on the shelves.

Knocking softly, he opened the door to Katie's room, trying to make as little noise as possible. To his relief, she seemed fast asleep: she was curled up in a tiny ball, her arms tightly around her knees. Her duvet was lying on the floor, so he picked it up and draped it over her, wincing at the still strong smell of alcohol in the room. It was then that he noticed an open bottle at his feet, and even before he sniffed it, he knew it was whisky. And again, he wondered what on earth had driven Katie to be the way she was. Even Oliver, who had been known by his former Quidditch team as the hardiest drinker of the lot, wouldn't be able to deal with whisky, not after vomiting up the contents of his stomach onto a pavement in the middle of the night.

Unnerved, he took the bottle and left the room, and after putting the whisky in the kitchen, he then quickly went to his own flat and got cleaned up, grateful for the taste of toothpaste in his mouth and the feeling of warm water on his face. He grabbed some milk and hangover potion while he was there, too. When he returned to Katie's flat, he was surprised to see her coming down the stairs, looking even more haggard and tired than she had been the previous night, a thin dressing gown over yesterday's creased robes.

"Hey," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," she replied bluntly.

"I went to mine and got you some hangover potion—"

"I don't want it. I could murder some wine, though."

"No," he told her firmly. "Tea. I'll make you tea. Okay?" His tone brooked no arguments, and she sighed, looking too tired to argue with him.

Unseen by her, he added some hangover potion to her drink while in the kitchen before taking it to the living room, where she was sitting listlessly, listening to the wireless. She looked up when he came in, and he pulled up the armchair, bringing it closer to the sofa where she was.

"You had a lot to drink last night," he said at last, after a long, long silence. "And I found whisky in your room, too." Still, she didn't say anything. "Look, Katie," he said softly, reaching out as if to touch her shoulder, but his hand paused in midair, unsure, "please tell me what's going on."

She was not looking at him; instead, she was staring fixedly at the mug of tea sitting on the coffee table between them, her eyes narrowed as if trying to work out whether or not he had put something in it. Reaching forward, Oliver lifted the mug and handed it to her, saying, "I haven't poisoned it, you know."

After a moment of hesitation, she reluctantly took it from him and sipped a little. "It's lovely," she said woodenly, her voice no more than a croak. "Thank you. Really. And — Oliver?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry I… kissed you."

"It's fine," he said, keeping his voice level but unable to control his cheeks from colouring.

"No, it's not. You must think I'm a—"

"Katie, forget about it. I have," Oliver lied. "Look, are you sure you're okay? What's happened?"

At this, she sat up a little straighter, but then, just as suddenly, her shoulders slumped again and she said helplessly, "I — I have no idea where to start."

The questions tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Well, where are your family? Do you have a job? What've you been doing these past—"

"Oliver," she said quietly, "one at a time. My head still hurts, okay?"

"Sorry."

She took a deep breath and another gulp of tea. "My parents — they're fine. Well. As fine as people can be at a time like this. They're purebloods, so they don't have to worry, really. But… they don't know where I am."

"Why?"

"They didn't want me to go. They were completely against the idea of me running away, but I had to, for Leanne—"

"Leanne?"

"Leanne," she repeated. "Leanne Starr." The way Katie uttered the name was with the softest, utmost reverence, and he could tell something wasn't being said. And then, to his surprise, the name clicked in his mind.

"Oh, I remember her. How is she?" Katie, however, did not reply, and the silence that followed was heavy with something Oliver didn't quite understand. "Wait. Isn't she, you know, Muggleborn?" The moment after he blurted it out, he closed his eyes, realising how insensitive he sounded.

"_Was_," she corrected bitterly. "She... they..." Katie trailed off.

"Shit." He frowned, trying to put the name to a face. He could vaguely remember a dark-haired girl who had practically been joined at the hip with Katie, at least in her first few years at Hogwarts. And then more details came back to him — of Leanne, a pretty, intelligent girl who often waited for Katie after Quidditch practice. And then, Oliver recalled, Leanne shocked everyone who was watching by kissing her.

It was only then that he registered that Katie had buried her face into her hands. "I'm sorry," he said awkwardly.

"You're not _sorry_; you just can't get your head around the fact that we were..." She gestured vaguely with her hands.

Oliver shook his head. "Of course it's not about that," he told her sincerely. "I saw that coming years ago, probably before you did."

The anger had disappeared from her eyes when she looked up. "What?"

"She had her eye on you for ages," he said. "As far as I can remember, you two were best friends, but I'm sure she looked at you in a way that was — different. I remember thinking you must've been blind not to notice it."

Katie flushed. "Yeah, well, I did eventually. Probably too late."

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "Do you… do you want to tell me what happened?"

He wondered if he had gone too far. Most likely, he had, but he wanted to help her. She was in a state, and he wanted — no, he _needed_ to make sure she would get out of it.

At first, Katie didn't say anything, instead sipping her tea, and it was only when she had drained the mug that she spoke.

"We… we were in hiding," she began. "Me and Leanne. Leanne's mum was missing. She went into work one day in the summer and never came back. Death Eaters came to Leanne's place the next day, when I was at hers, and she only just managed to escape with me. I went to mine with her, grabbed my stuff and some money and was about to leave with her when Mum and Dad caught us. They… they took one look at us holding hands and kind of put two and two together."

There was silence as she finished her tea, and he could tell the hangover potion had started its work, because her face looked fresher and her eyes no longer had the pale shell of drunkenness about them. He waited for her to speak; he could sense she wanted to say more, but at the same time, Oliver did not want to push her.

"They didn't mind too much about me and Leanne. I managed to persuade them to let me go with her," she said finally. "At least until we could find Angela, Leanne's mum. But we had no idea how the fuck we were meant to go about it. M-mum and Dad made us promise to contact them regularly and let them know we were okay. We were staying in a flat, and I didn't realise how many problems we'd have, just the two of us living together. I — I felt like I was in Leanne's face all the time, and it was like I… I couldn't breathe. We had arguments. So many of them. I mean, we always made up in the end, but still, I didn't think it would be like that — fuck, I was so stupid." Katie paused, biting her lip to stop it quivering, and she squeezed her eyes shut, but a tear trickled down her cheek anyway.

"Then, a couple of weeks ago, we had another row," Katie went on. "It was over something really stupid. I was going to get some food from the shops, but she didn't want me to go by myself, just in case something happened. She's never got angry with me before, but that day, I don't even know what had got into both of us, because she was screaming at me, and the whole fucking flat could hear her going on about You-Know-Who—"

"The Taboo," he said immediately.

"The what?"

"The Taboo. She must have mentioned You-Know-Who's name." She nodded, and he went on, "There's a — a curse, so anyone who says You-Know-Who's name is traced. It breaks protective charms. You must have heard of it." But Katie shook her head. "Go on," he prompted. "What happened next?"

"And then I just stormed out. And when… when I came back a while later, I — I found her. D-dead." This time, she lapsed completely, burying her face into the sofa so he couldn't see her crying, and it was only after several minutes that she spoke again. "They were waiting for me. The Snatchers. The moment I got into the room, they pounced on me. How the fuck I managed to get away, I don't even know — I can just remember firing curses at them and then Disapparating."

"She could still be alive," Oliver suggested.

But Katie shook her head. "She's _dead_, Oliver. I saw her. She wasn't moving. They killed her, damn it, and it's—"

"It's not your fault," he said firmly. "Don't even think for a second that you caused any of this, because you didn't."

"Easy for you to say," she mumbled.

"You should eat something, have a shower," he said in an attempt to change the subject and brighten her mood. "My shift starts soon, though, so I'm going to have to get going."

He got to his feet, wanting to reach forward and comfort her, somehow, but not knowing quite _how_. So he stayed where he was, waiting awkwardly for her to speak.

* * *

"Okay." Arms folded, she did not meet his eyes, instead trying to wipe the tears from her cheeks with her sleeves. Though she felt better having told someone at long last, she also finally felt the pain that she had fought so hard to suppress for the last fortnight, and the gaping hole in her heart ached all the more as a result.

The _chink_ of coins brought her out of her reverie, and she looked up, frowning. "Listen, Katie," he said, "your fridge is practically empty. Here's some—"

"I don't need your money," she hissed back, suddenly and irrationally angry. "I'm not a charity case."

"I never said you were."

"You didn't have to," she snapped, unable to stop the poisonous words from leaving her mouth. "Your fucking face says it all." And then she couldn't stand it any longer: how guilty he was making her feel, and the horrible sensation of her grief, which had been frozen, in one place, slowly becoming boiling hot liquid running through her veins — no, she couldn't take it anymore. "Go," she said, far, far more quietly. "Leave. I want you to leave. I'm going back to sleep."

He didn't say anything, and his calm exterior made him seem so unperturbed, so detached, that Katie was in half a mind to scream at him. Because, more than anything, she wanted him to argue with her, to set her straight, to put her in her place and tell her how fucking stupid she was being, because this was _Oliver_, and that was what he had always done. But he did nothing. He simply nodded wearily, letting out a deep breath.

"Fine," he said, his voice so faint that she could barely hear him. "Fine. But… Katie, look. Let your parents know you're all right. They need to know. And if you ever need anything, anything at all, you know where I am, yeah? I know it's probably not what you want to hear right now, so if I never hear from you again, I understand. And I realise I'm most likely going too far, but please, please, just… look after yourself, okay? Don't do anything stupid."

With that, he made his way out of the front door, shutting it carefully behind him. Katie watched him go, regret already gnawing at her. She tasted salty tears on her lips, burying her face into her knees again, half-wanting to go after him and tell him to come back. But she was not going to. No. That would make her look even more pathetic; he would feel even sorrier for her than he had to begin with, and Katie did not want that.

And then she did the far more pathetic thing: she heaved herself up, went to the kitchen and gulped down a large measure of whisky, swallowing the feeling of nausea that came with it. As always, it tasted disgusting first thing in the morning, but she suspected whisky was her only companion right now — after kicking out the closest person on earth she had to a friend, there wasn't really much choice for her, now.


	3. Chapter 3

The church looked surprisingly warm and welcoming to Katie, being the only building in sight except for a couple of disused offices nearby. She had been wandering around the streets all day, as she had done yesterday and the day before, but the sounds of singing had now drawn her to the large, packed church.

She stood just outside, wondering if she should go in. It wasn't like she had anything better to do, anyway. It was cold, after all and even with her gloves and socks on, her hands felt like icicles and her feet were so numb that she felt like she was floating on her tiptoes. She wished that feeling was reality — to be whisked away into the harsh, cutting wind and nothingness and never to return sounded so appealing to her. Being stuck with only her own thoughts for the last couple of days had not helped in the slightest, and not for the first time, she felt a pang of regret for kicking Oliver out the way she did. He had only tried to help. And, yes, it was because he felt sorry for her, but Katie would have felt sorry for herself, too, with the state she had been in.

Besides, she wanted someone. Not necessarily like _that _— she wasn't sure what she felt for Oliver, not after the drunken debacle that had taken place a few days before — but just some company, someone to talk to. She had gone out last night, in fact, to a Muggle club, to paint over the hole that had formed in her heart, but being fucked in an alley by yet another stranger (this one, at least, didn't smell too bad, even if he wasn't very good-looking and wore jeans that were far too tight) was hardly romantic. Or healthy. And it wasn't what she wanted, not at all; she had been on a high at the time, yes, but afterwards, she came crashing down, the harsh reality of this person being nothing more than a one-night stand — more like a ten-minute stand, really. She had then returned home, exhausted (she hadn't trusted herself to Apparate home, she had got that hammered), alone in her small flat with nothing other than the wireless to keep her company.

Almost unconsciously, her feet carried her inside the church, welcoming the smell of candles. She stood at the back just as the congregation rose to sing another hymn. It was not one she recognised, but she smiled nevertheless and watched as a couple in the very back row grasped hands and exchanged a look. The woman leaned forward and whispered something in the man's ear, and he smiled back just as she lay her head on his shoulder.

Katie envied them. Of course she did. She ached for that familiarity, that _knowledge_ that she had someone and that someone wanted her and loved her and was there to tell her that. Katie no longer had that security. Yes, she had thought about the two of them not surviving, but she had always imagined it to have been the two of them. Certainly she could think of various scenarios where she had been killed and Leanne hadn't — Leanne was more intelligent, more resourceful, the better half, but not once had Katie thought this would happen in reverse.

Really, Katie should have visited her parents by now. Having sent them an owl letting them know she was okay, she was sure they would be worried sick, but she also knew that they would be even more worried at the sight of her. Katie knew she was a mess, and she did not want to hear her mother say "I told you so" or her father's attempt to comfort her about Leanne. They wouldn't understand. And it would not do Katie or her parents any good if they saw her, but at least they knew she was all right now. Besides, as she had said in her letter, she was of age. It wasn't like she _needed_ to return to them.

It was only when footsteps sounded that Katie realised the service had finished; the congregation filed out, a few of them looking at her curiously, but no one said anything. She followed them outside, where, thankfully, it was not snowing. Still, there was hardened ice on the ground which made it difficult to walk. For once, she was not particularly drunk; sobriety had painfully kicked in sometime after midday, and she hadn't had the energy, nor the money, to buy another drink, so she waited until she had reached somewhere isolated before turning on the spot and Apparating into her flat.

No sooner had she taken off her jacket and gloves, however, before she heard a loud knock, and she was sure her heart came to a temporary stop. Slowly, trying her utmost not to make a sound, she looked into the peephole, and to her relief, she could see it was only Oliver. Behind him, she could just about make out three other people, all who looked vaguely familiar. After a few more moments, there was another knock, and Oliver called, "Katie? Are you there?"

Another, younger, male voice rang loudly in Katie's ears: "We've been standing here for the last fifteen minutes, Oliver. This was a bad idea."

At this, she decided to open the door; she drew back a little when she saw who he had in company — one girl and two boys — all three of them with their fists tightly clenched around their wands.

"What the fuck is this?" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down. "Put your wands away, damn it. You're in a Muggle flat. You're… from Hogwarts, are you?"

"Put them away, guys," Oliver intoned, and reluctantly, they obeyed, stowing them away into jeans and jacket pockets. Oliver looked relieved, most likely because Katie was sober this time, but at her furious, questioning look, he said, "Can we come in?"

Rolling her eyes, she said, "Not like you've given me much choice. Come on, then."

She turned on her heel, heading for the living room but halting mid-step. She could hear their footsteps behind her, and yet she could also hear furious whispers from the people Oliver was with as the door shut.

"I don't think we should be here…"

"How do we know if we can trust her?"

"Oliver, have you even _asked _her?"

"Asked me what?" Katie interrupted, moving to stand in the doorway. "Oliver, what the hell is going on?"

He shot one of the boys, who looked no older than sixteen, an angry look before explaining, "I need somewhere for this lot to stay. They're on the run. Muggleborns. They were supposed to stay in a safe house with Lee Jordan — you remember him?"

"Course I do," she said.

"His place just got raided, and he suggested yours. Just for the time being. I wouldn't have asked, and God knows, if I had my way, I wouldn't be asking you, either, because I don't want you to be in danger, but everyone I know is either full up or being watched. My place is too small, and—"

"Wait, wait, hold on," she said, frowning and trying to focus on the matter at hand. She moved Oliver aside, surveying the other people in the room, who had suddenly gone silent. "Do I know you? From Hogwarts?"

"I remember you," the older boy said slowly. "You're Katie Bell. You got cursed by—"

"Colin, I'm sure she doesn't need to be reminded of that," Oliver cut across roughly. Turning to her, he nodded at her question. "Yeah, Katie, they're all from Hogwarts. This is Colin, Colin Creevey, and this is his brother, Dennis." The younger boy nodded and smiled at Katie, who nodded tersely back before turning to the girl.

"And I'm Lisa Turpin," the blonde, slightly brighter-faced girl added.

"And you want to stay here?"

"Please," Oliver said, his eyes grey and serious.

She raised her eyebrows, surprised at how desperate he looked, and suddenly, it was easy to forget everything that had happened with the distraction. "So that's your job now? You don't play Quidditch anymore — you polish glasses in The Hog's Head and hide Muggleborns?"

"Pretty much, yeah," he replied, and when his words were greeted by several moments of silence, he said, "You know, maybe they're right. And the last thing I want is for you to be in danger, Katie, so maybe… maybe we should go."

But Katie held up her hand, thinking fast. After all, it wasn't like she didn't have any plans of her own. She didn't want to see her parents, even if it was Christmas. And she could do with company, something or someone to make her forget the guilt she had felt so keenly ever since Leanne's death. It couldn't do her any harm… could it?

She looked up at Oliver, meeting his eyes fully for the first time. "No, wait. Y-you can stay," she said, trying to muster a smile on her lips but succeeding only in a grimace.

"What?"

"I said they can stay," Katie repeated.

Though he looked surprised, he said immediately, "Thank you." He smiled at her gratefully, and once again, she felt guilty for what she had said a few days back.

"One condition, though," she added, and all three Muggleborns looked up, looking slightly apprehensive. "You have to cook. Unless you want to eat takeaway every evening."

Even Colin, who had had a sullen look on his face from the moment he arrived, cracked a smile at that, and Katie gestured to the living room. Her heart lightened just at the thought of having company, and though Lisa, Colin and Dennis headed through the door, Oliver stayed where he was, and Katie quickly pulled the living room door shut.

"Thank you," he said again. "Look, Katie, I'm sorry about the other night…"

"Don't be," she interrupted. "You were only trying to help. I was an idiot. And a bitch."

He shook his head. "You're not a bitch. You've had a really rough time. It's fine."

Tentatively, she took a step forward, and before could stop herself, she was hugging him. Though Oliver stiffened at first, he quickly relaxed and hugged her back, but then, after only a moment, he stepped away. Katie did not comment, however; she was just grateful at how readily he had accepted her apology.

"And, Oliver, I really am sorry… about the other thing."

"Already forgotten," he said, but nevertheless, his slightly embarrassed expression betrayed his words.

She let out a nervous chuckle. "I must've been really off my face."

"Yeah, just a bit," he said tactfully. "Anyway, I've got to go. It's Christmas Eve, after all — the pub will be busy."

Trying not to sound too disappointed, she nodded. "Come and visit tomorrow if you can. Even if it's late."

"'Course I will," he promised.

* * *

The next day, Katie felt productive, even if all she did was head to the shops to buy food, as instructed by Dennis (who, she had decided, was the most culinary person she had ever come across, even if he was only fourteen). It had been difficult trying to find a shop that was open, but she didn't mind, even if it was snowing heavily throughout the day.

Though she hadn't spoken as much as she'd hoped with Lisa, Colin and Dennis, they seemed like nice enough people, especially from what she remembered when she was at Hogwarts. When they had arrived the previous night, they had talked more between themselves than with her during their dinner of vegetable stew. Lisa had briefly murmured a thank you shortly after dinner and had even told Katie a little about her family, why she couldn't return to Hogwarts, but the Creeveys had remained quiet.

It just didn't feel like Christmas. There was no tree, no decorations, but Katie felt any kind of real celebration was a sacrilege because Leanne was not there to join her. Katie winced as she sat down for dinner later that night; she hadn't thought about Leanne all day, being far too distracted by her new companions, and she wondered for a brief moment if that was wrong, somehow. Leanne was where Katie's thoughts had dwelled constantly for the last two weeks — and now, for the first time, Katie had managed to take a deep breath and busy herself in something else, _someone _else.

Lisa was friendly but reserved as they ate dinner; she told Katie about her Muggle parents, and how they had been killed in a ruthless Muggle attack in her area only a month ago. Dennis, the youngest there, was the quietest, while Colin was a lot more outspoken, at least from what Katie could tell, but also far less trusting than the other two. She resolved to find out more about him, talk to him more.

"That was lovely," she declared after finishing the last of her chicken, throwing down her knife and fork and getting up, returning from the kitchen with the red wine she had bought from the supermarket. She poured a generous measure to her glass and offered it to the others, secretly relieved when they all declined.

Katie raised her glass, and the others followed suit; their glasses clinked together and then they drank in silence. The air was not particularly celebratory, and yet, still, the fact that this empty feeling was shared amongst the four of them made the weight on Katie's shoulders seem much lighter.

"Did Oliver say he was coming round?" Colin asked her, breaking the silence they had lapsed into.

"Yeah, but probably not right now," Katie replied. "He said he'll be a bit late, you know, because it's Christmas and everything." _Hopefully not too late_, she added in her head, because she wanted to see him and catch up. She had so much she wanted to say to him, so much she wanted to find out about him, that she hoped his shift wouldn't go on for too long. Trying to change the subject, she began to say, "So, how did you find living with Lee—"

"Is Oliver your boyfriend?" Lisa interrupted.

"No, of course not!" Katie snapped, and Lisa raised her eyebrows, taken aback. But Katie immediately realised how rude she was being, and she said quickly, "I… I didn't mean he's not a nice guy, only I've… just come out of a relationship." It was not a complete lie, and with any luck, she would not have to tell them about Leanne. No. Katie didn't want anyone to know about her.

Although Lisa looked unconvinced, to Katie's relief, she let it slide, getting to her feet. "I'll do the dishes, if you want."

"Cheers," Colin said, a sullen look encompassing his features again.

"I'll help," Dennis added, getting up.

Once they were in the kitchen, Katie flopped on the sofa; Colin, meanwhile, remained in his chair. "So," Colin said after a moment, "where's your family, Katie?"

"They live in Barnton," she replied shortly. She looked up at Colin. "Yours?"

"Dad's from Hackney. Mum was from Essex."

She knew something didn't bode well from his tone, and she asked tentatively, "Are they… all right?"

"Dad is," he mumbled. "Mum… she didn't make it."

"I'm sorry." He stiffened, his front teeth worrying his bottom lip. Slowly, Katie said, "I know it's hard, Colin. But… you'll get through this. I know you will."

While Katie herself had become sick of the sentiments that left her lips, the last thing she expected was for Colin to slam his glass down onto the table and jump angrily to his feet.

"You're not _sorry_," he hissed. "You have no idea how difficult it is for me, right now, because _you're _a pureblood, so it's okay for you, isn't it? The worst thing you've got to worry about is your bloody boyfriends! But not all of us are so lucky! You're sitting there, acting like you've got me all worked out, but guess what? You don't!"

"Colin!" Dennis, who had just entered the room, looked alarmed. "What the hell is going on?"

"Nothing," Colin replied, shaking his head. "Nothing. It's fine."

Dennis glanced at Katie, but she also shook her head, and Dennis reluctantly returned to the kitchen, frowning. The moment he left, Katie said quietly, "I know exactly how you feel. Just because I'm a pureblood doesn't mean life is peachy for me, you know." He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand, taking a deep breath. "Hear me out. Someone — someone really close to me was killed by Snatchers only a fortnight ago. My… my girlfriend, Leanne."

"Oh."

"And I'll freely admit that I'm still a complete and utter fucking mess," she continued calmly. "The last two weeks, I've been completely off my face. Hell, I know I won't be able to stay away from the wine tonight, but my point is, I do know how you feel. Being pureblood doesn't exactly mean immunity, you know. It definitely doesn't mean you can't lose someone you l-love."

"I'm sorry," Colin said after a moment, his head bowed.

"Apology accepted," Katie said readily.

"I just… miss her."

"I miss her, too," Katie said, looking up, and an unspoken understanding passed between them, even though they were referring to different people. "We just have to live with it. Somehow."

"God knows how Dad survived," Colin said softly, as if barely hearing Katie. "He's moved since. We don't know where he is. Lee Jordan and Kingsley Shacklebolt said it was better if we didn't know, really; all we need to know is that he's in a safe house, just like we are, now."

"After it's all over, you can go and see him," Katie suggested. "Speaking of parents, I should really go and see mine. Oliver's told me to do as much, anyway."

"He really didn't want to ask you to take us in, you know," Colin said abruptly. "Oliver made it perfectly clear to Lee that he didn't want you involved, but Lee was insistent, saying Death Eaters were picking off the safe houses one by one."

Katie was about to reply, but at that moment, Lisa came in, Dennis at her heels, and she swiftly changed the subject to reminiscing over Christmases at Hogwarts. And as the four of them swapped stories about the Yule Ball, the wireless crackling in the background, she managed a smile at Colin, who nodded back, and she hoped his outburst that night would be their only argument.

* * *

By half eleven, Dennis had fallen asleep on the sofa; Colin was on a camp bed in the living room, and Lisa was talking quietly with him, careful not to wake Dennis up. Katie, however, was not tired, so, very quietly, she crept into the living room, unnoticed by the other two, took the wireless and attempted to tune it in the kitchen. It was difficult, though, since the only thing that she could fully hear was Celestina Warbeck, and Katie had enough of her crooning as it was. She had just tapped it silent with her wand, sighing, when she heard a knock at the door.

She immediately got up and answered it, smiling in relief at Oliver, who was carrying several bars of Honeyduke's.

"Hey," she said. "Happy Christmas, you."

"You too," he replied, smiling warmly and handing her the chocolate. "How have they been? Colin got on your nerves yet?"

She laughed. "Yes. Briefly. How did you guess?"

"He just seems like the type of boy to piss you off."

"Too right," Katie muttered. "But he's all right, really."

"Yeah. I'm just going to go and say hi, check they're okay — be back in a sec."

For want of something to do, she faffed around and made tea, hoping Oliver was the milky, two-sugars type. He returned to the kitchen after a minute, just as she was adding milk, and she cursed under her breath when she accidentally poured too much in.

Nevertheless, Oliver accepted the mug, taking a sip and not even making a face. She was grateful for that.

"You came back early," she remarked. "I would've thought you would be there longer, it being Christmas and all."

"There was a bit of a scuffle in the pub," he explained. "Aberforth — the barman — kicked everyone out, closed early and told me to go home."

"Is everything all right?"

"I don't think they were Death Eaters, if that's what you were thinking. That's not really their style, to be honest."

"That's good," she said, but then she paused and asked, "How do you know about their _style_?"

"Please. The Hog's Head — that's where all the Death Eaters go. They're our regular clientele."

She was horrified at that, unable to understand why anyone would want to be in sight of Death Eaters, let alone serve them drinks.

He seemed to notice and added quickly, "It's not too bad."

"Liar," she said before she could stop herself.

"Okay, it is sometimes," Oliver admitted. "But I need money somehow."

Katie shrunk back a little, trying not to think of the tiny pile of silver left in her Gringotts account and the rapidly thinning wad of Muggle cash stashed in a box in her bedroom. She needed a job soon — she wasn't sure she could even cover rent for that month.

Then, another question entered her mind, and she asked, "Oliver? Why are working in The Hog's Head? Did Puddlemere kick you out?"

"No, they didn't. I walked," Oliver said quietly. "After the Muggleborn Registration Commission came about, the Muggleborn on our team went on the run. And I took one look at our new management—"

"—Death Eaters?"

He nodded. "And I decided to up and go straightaway."

"Good for you."

"I needed money," he finished, "so I took the first job I could find. Besides, it's great for finding out information."

"I'm glad you're doing something," Katie remarked, aware of how lame she sounded. "Making a difference."

He shrugged. "It's not much. I do what I can. I'm just grateful Aberforth is in on it, really. But… forget about me. How have you been doing?"

She knew he wasn't referring to Colin, Dennis and Lisa. "Not great." Oliver sat back in his chair, waiting patiently for her to continue, and she finally said, "I don't know. I… I barely thought about her today. I really wanted to just make sure those three were all right, to be honest, and I suppose I got so wrapped up in, you know, making sure they were okay sleeping, that there was food for them, that they weren't bored — I even dug out my old Gobstones set earlier — that I feel like I forgot about Leanne."

"You haven't forgotten her," Oliver said gently. "And you're doing something, too; you're making a difference, helping me, helping them. I'm sure that's what she would have wanted."

Katie sighed. "You're right." For a few minutes, they sat in companionable silence, Oliver finishing off his (far too milky) tea, Katie pointing her wand at the dishes so they stacked themselves neatly on the drying rack. "You know, I think I need a job."

"You could try Gladrags. Or maybe Madam Malkin's?" he suggested.

"Ugh, Madam Malkin always annoyed me when I went to buy my Hogwarts robes," she said. "Never used to reduce the price of anything, that woman. But Gladrags — maybe. Merlin, I could do with the money."

"Go for it," Oliver said with an encouraging smile. In the dim kitchen light, she could just see the snow falling, coating the windowsill and painting London white. And as Katie took his mug from him and placed it in the sink, she thought, _This might be all right._


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Chapter Notes:

I realise there's a bit of a time jump here, but hopefully it won't be *too* abrupt. At any rate, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thank you for the lovely reviews so far :)

For the next four months, Katie managed to pull herself together, at least to some extent. She found a job, visited her parents (Oliver made sure to stay with Lisa, Colin and Dennis when she did) and occasionally helped Oliver escort Muggleborns to safe houses. Voldemort, however, continued to pull the strings on the Ministry, and Katie heard the most horrific stories of what the Ministry were doing to Muggles and Muggleborns.

Now, however, her efforts were focused on battle. She had jumped up immediately the moment Colin had received the message on his DA coin, and as she walked down a corridor in Hogwarts, she was on red alert. Her hands dripped sweat, not just from the late spring air and the mugginess of Hogwarts's walls, but also from the heat of her last duel and how much she had run in the last three hours. She was alone, having lost Angelina a while back, and though the corridor she was walking down seemed to be completely empty, she knew better than to simply assume that much. There could well be someone lurking behind a suit of armour, so she raised her wand and whispered, "_Homenum revelio._"

A shadow rose before her, and thankfully, she recognised it immediately, letting out the breath she didn't even know she had been holding. "Fred?" she called, the dusty air scratchy with paranoia and death. "Fred, it's me, Katie. You can come out now, you know."

No answer.

nbsp;

She continued speaking nevertheless. "Bloody hell, you nearly scared me there. What the hell were you playing at?"

Again, her words were greeted by silence.

A deep frown formed on her face. The salty sweat on her forehead trickled down into the slash on her cheek and the tiny cut that had formed on her lip, stinging hotly, and she started walking towards the nearest pile of rubble, her wand still raised. "Fred, look, the joke's over. Come out."

There was still no response. The rubble began shifting to the left, causing the debris to crumble and spill over the floor, but Katie continued what she was doing, trying to focus on moving the rubble and ignoring the thought that was now gnawing at her heart.

And then a dust-covered body fell out of the niche where a suit of armour should have been, red hair and dusty, frayed robes instantly recognisable -

No. He wasn't - he was Stunned; yes, that was why he wasn't answering. No, it was definitely not because he was…

"Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. No. Please. No!"

She had no idea what she was saying; all that was crystal clear to Katie as she turned his body over were Fred's eyes: they stared at her unblinkingly, just like Leanne's had so many months before. And… and just like Leanne, Fred was dead. He had to be. The suspended, frozen smile on his cold blue lips confirmed that, but even so, she felt his wrist for a pulse. There was nothing.

Katie would have cried, but whatever was left of her heart was too numb to muster any tears. Fred was gone. Inside, all hope she had managed to dredge up for the battle vanished. She had seen more bodies than she had in her whole life - of course Voldemort had won. What the fuck was the point in even pretending she wanted to fight when her friends were dying, one by one? Why was she here when, inevitably, she would just return to the same life she had before: trying to hide how much she was drinking from her parents, working in Gladrags and "saving" the handful of Muggleborns who hadn't made it safely out of the country yet? For the umpteenth time, Katie wondered _why_, because it was all very well and noble and chivalrous and so fucking Gryffindor of her, but it didn't bring back Leanne. Katie had always told herself that everything she was doing was for Leanne, but Leanne wasn't there. She was somewhere unknown, and Katie - Katie was still here. The sole survivor.

And then she finally realised what she had wanted even before Oliver had taken her home from The Hog's Head on that cold winter's night. From the moment the life had seeped out of Leanne's eyes, Katie had wanted out. Of course she had. Above all, Katie wanted to join Leanne, and as she stared into Fred Weasley's dead, empty eyes, she couldn't remember ever feeling so jealous.

Loud, jeering voices echoed down the corridor, breaking the eerie silence that had settled on the castle like the dust that covered the floor. _Death Eaters_, Katie thought, and without even realising what she was doing, she got up, her wand held loosely in her hand. She tripped several times in her robes, and when she rounded the corner, two masked men looked up. Although they were still at a distance and their faces were covered, she could hear the sneer in one man's voice when he called, "What's the matter, darling? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Her hand closed instinctively around her wand, but something inside her made her stop. There was, after all, no point in defending herself. Not now. It was hopeless.

She wanted to die. She wanted to black out like she did when she had had far too much to drink and never open her eyes again. She didn't want to wake up to an awful hangover and then struggle through her day before blacking out once more - no, she didn't want that life anymore. She didn't want _any_ life. For that matter. She wanted to die.

Didn't she?

The split second in which she hesitated was all they needed; one Death Eater aimed a curse at her, but at the last moment, Katie ducked, and the jet of light flew above her head. She felt a sudden rush of adrenaline that wiped her mind clean of her previous pessimism, and her own Stunning spell only very narrowly missed the other masked man just as more Death Eaters rounded the corner.

The anger rushing through her veins burned hotly as she slashed the air with her wand, but her Full Body Bind jinx was deflected back at her, and she only just managed to block it. Then, at the sound of footsteps behind her, she whipped around; waving her wand wildly, she screamed the first spell that came to mind, "_Confringo!_"

The bang and the thump that followed was not nearly as loud as the strangled cry that was so ear-splitting, so scared, that the air became solid and was sliced cleanly in half. It was by far the most terrifying sound that Katie had ever heard in her whole life. More terrifying still, however, was the sight of the body lying at her feet, blonde hair singed, her chest a mangled, burnt, bloody mess, but her face was still recognisable despite the teeth marks on her cheeks.

* * *

When Voldemort issued the temporary ceasefire, Oliver and a small group of survivors headed to the Hogwarts grounds. The bodies littered there were slowly being recovered, one by one. Carrying them up across the grass and up the steps was a difficult, laborious job that made Oliver feel even more exhausted; he knew he could have Levitated them, but the physical strain was a distraction, at least, and it made him forget, albeit momentarily.

"Oh, shit," Oliver said under his breath, screwing his eyes shut. Then he opened them again, his shoulders sinking at the sight of Colin Creevey, his eyes shut, as though he were sleeping, on the ground. A rush of emotion bypassed Oliver's numb brain, forming a lump in his throat. He bit down on his lip, only just registering from the vague pain that he must have drawn blood.

Neville's voice jerked Oliver out of his daze. "C'mon, let's lift him."

"Okay," Oliver found himself saying shakily. _Pull yourself together,_ he told himself. It would not do for Oliver to be weak. Not now. He needed every ounce of strength possible; he had to deal with his grief later. He stumbled briefly once they had reached the steps, but he forced himself to walk steadily and to retain his composure. They were at the Entrance Hall when Oliver said in the strongest voice he could muster, "You know what? I think I can manage him alone, Neville.*"

Neville nodded, and Oliver carried Colin away on his shoulder, wincing at how cold the body was in death. When he reached the Great Hall, he placed Colin carefully at the end of the line of bodies, he made sure to straighten Colin's robes, removing the leaf in his hair. Oliver's knees felt bruised as he knelt on the cold, hard floor of the Great Hall, making Colin presentable, just as he had done to the other bodies he had brought in. And all the while, Oliver avoided Colin's face, because Oliver was meant to protect him, wasn't he? That was the job Oliver had assigned himself when Lee, Fred and George had first approached him for assistance: to protect, to house, to care for and to pay for the Muggleborns on the run. Including Colin. But Colin was dead, now, and Oliver - Oliver had failed.

What if Katie was in the grounds, too, dead? What if Oliver had failed to protect her as well? He had no idea what he would do if his fears were true. Not for the first time, he wished they hadn't joined the fight - Colin was underage still and shouldn't have been there anyway. And Oliver had told Katie to leave, that it was not safe, but she had not listened.

Unable to bear the stench of death a second longer, Oliver got to his feet and walked out, intending to go back and retrieve more bodies (because of course, that was all he was good for now, wasn't it?). However, the sounds of screaming cracked the thin shell of silence; renewed by a fresh burst of energy, Oliver sprinted up staircases, trying to find the source of the noise. Soon, at the second floor, he followed the sound, which was becoming louder and louder, until he heard a bang which echoed down the corridor and assaulted his ears. Wand lit and raised, Oliver advanced stealthily, catching sight of a large figure in Death Eater's robes. Oliver aimed and fired a silent Stunning Spell, causing the man to topple over.

Oliver ran forward, turning a corner and firing more curses at the Death Eaters. Taken by surprise, one of the Death Eaters cast a Shield Charm, yelling, "We have to go!" but Oliver barely noticed. Because there was Katie, her face covered in dirt and blood, her eyes stricken, and yet he couldn't stop the relief flooding in his chest at the sight of her, alive.

With a bang, smoke filled the air, and though Oliver suddenly couldn't see, he could hear a series of _cracks_ as the Death Eaters Disapparated. Oliver took a few steps towards her, barely able to see; he felt almost blindly in front of him until his hand found her shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly. But Katie didn't even seem to notice him, and when the dust and smoke cleared a little, he understood why. Lying on the floor in front of her was another girl, her blonde hair and slightly rounded face vaguely familiar. Flecks of blood were spattered on her face, and her torso was soaked dark red, too. "Lavender Brown," he murmured eventually, and to his shock, Katie collapsed to the floor, her loud, strangled cries echoing against the walls.

He immediately bent down, reaching out to her, and she curled her arms around his waist, burying her face into his chest. The front of his robes quickly became damp, but he didn't care, instead stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort, even though they sounded useless and trite when he said them aloud.

"He's called a ceasefire," Oliver said, careful to keep his voice down, though he wasn't sure why, because they were definitely alone. "You-Know-Who. He said… that Harry has to give himself up."

But she didn't even seem to be listening properly. "Oliver," she breathed, "I - L-Lavender. It's Lavender Brown!"

"I know," he said heavily, rubbing her back. "There's nothing you can do. She's gone."

"No…"

"Were you two… friends?"

"I didn't know her that well," Katie began, "but - but-"

She lifted her face to his, tears in her eyes. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but nothing came out. She seemed to be in shock.

"We should take her down to the Great Hall," Oliver said eventually. "Are you okay lifting her, or…"

Katie's voice came out as nearly a squeak. "No, I can do it."

Together, they carried Lavender's body down two flights of stairs in silence. Several times, Katie stumbled and almost fell, but each time, Oliver closed his eyes and waited for her to steady herself before continuing down the stairs until they reached the Great Hall. There, they placed Lavender on the raised platform with the rest of the bodies, but Oliver could not bear to look at her a second longer than necessary. He had not seen such a brutal death in his life, and judging by Katie's reaction, neither had she.

He put his arms around her middle, holding her close and kissing the top of her head, as if that would somehow assuage the horror that they had both witnessed. Oliver felt her chest contract against his, and they both breathed heavily, watching as families tended to the dead and friends mourned.

Chapter End Notes:

Pleeease review! They make the world go around and are always, always responded to. :)


	5. Chapter 5

The following week was a complete blur for Katie. Having eventually returned to her flat with Oliver (Dennis and Lisa had stayed at Hogwarts, but she did not want to be there, and Oliver, to her relief, agreed to stay with her for the night), she was in such a state of shock that she barely spoke to him, and in a way, she was relieved when he left the following day. She could not quite believe what she had done. She had _killed_ Lavender Brown. And no, she hadn't done so intentionally, but the fact remained that Lavender was dead and that Katie had caused that and was walking freely on the streets.

How she was even able to live with herself, she had no idea. The good thing — the right thing — to do would be to turn herself in. But who to? The new Minister for Magic was someone called Kingsley Shacklebolt, but the Ministry itself was still a complete mess now most of the authority figures were deemed criminals or dead. Who did she go to? _Where _would she go? And how on earth was she even meant to look Oliver in the eye, after everything she had done?

So she had stayed put. At least for the time being. It was her fault, all her fault, and the horrible irony of it all was that she didn't even know who to go to or if there was a prison to stay in. But there was more to it than that. A part of her, the immoral, guiltless, selfish part of her that she didn't even know existed, didn't want to go to Azkaban or anywhere else. Katie had heard horror stories about Azkaban and Dementors, and being shackled to her own brain, essentially, was not what she wanted — even if she did deserve it.

But Lavender had done nothing wrong. She did not deserve to die. Katie could remember her from school vividly, not as the girl who had pounced on Ron Weasley, practically out of nowhere, but first and foremost as someone who was a laugh and fun to talk to. She was one of the few people her age at Hogwarts who were completely at ease with Katie and Leanne, and Katie had even greeted her cheerfully when she had first arrived at Hogwarts for the battle earlier. Apparently, however, Lavender had been attacked by a werewolf, and then… and then she had died. It had been blamed on Death Eaters, according to the _Prophet_ — of course it would be, though, Katie thought bitterly. And she, Katie, was far too cowardly and selfish to turn herself in.

She knew Lavender's funeral had already happened, but Katie had to go and see her grave. Even if it was just to place flowers there — though how a few flimsy petals were supposed to assuage her guilt, she had no idea. Something compelled her to go, especially after she decided to return to her flat from her parents', and after finding out that Lavender had been buried in the newly erected graveyard in a small village just off Hogsmeade, Katie decided to Apparate there.

There were a few people there, laying flowers, paying their respects; another body was being buried, in fact, just as she landed a little unsteadily on the ground, slightly disoriented from Apparition. Katie felt a sudden chill, despite the warm weather and the blazing sun almost blinding her in its brightness, and she wondered briefly if she should just turn around and leave.

_No_, she thought. Katie was there for a reason. She wanted to pay her respects; she _had_ to see for herself the damage she had done, and it was with a thudding heart and uncomfortably hot palms that she walked down the path, looking for Lavender's gravestone.

It took a while, but finally, she came to a halt; just ahead of her, a couple — most likely in their forties — knelt before the grave. Tears were dripping down the woman's nose, and Katie watched, barely registering her own tears, as Lavender's parents replaced the flowers on Lavender's grave with fresh ones. Grasping hands, the man murmuring something unintelligible to his wife, they walked away together, and Katie felt a renewed feeling of guilt wash over her as she stepped towards the grave.

"What the fuck have I done?" she said softly. And then the words came tumbling out of her mouth. "Lavender… I'm… so sorry. This wasn't meant to happen. None of it was. It was an accident, okay, it wasn't my fault — and look, there I go again, trying to make fucking excuses for myself. I'm sorry. You were a good person, Lavender. More than that. And y-you don't know how much I would give to trade places with you right now, because anything, _anything _has to be better than feeling like this. I can't apologise enough. But, Lavender, look, I'm going to do the right thing." Katie took a deep breath, realising what she had to do, that she could not put off the inevitable any longer. "I'm turning myself in. I've said bye to my parents; I should really say goodbye to Oliver, too, but I won't. If I see him again, I'll probably do something really stupid, and — I'm sorry, Lavender, I'm babbling. You probably don't want to know. But I'll do it. I'll turn myself in. And if that means I go to Azkaban and get driven insane, fine, because that's what I deserve, isn't it? Isn't it?"

She was crying now, salt droplets pouring from her eyes; Katie clenched her fists in anguish, trying her utmost to level herself and wishing Lavender could reply. But she didn't.

Raising a shaking hand, she attempted to Conjure a bunch of flowers with her wand. Only a single yellow flower materialised, however, and she caught it, placed the paltry offering on the grave and stood. Her blood rushed in her ears, the enormity of what she had done finally catching up with her, and with that, Katie left the graveyard in silence, the cool air whipping her tear-stained cheeks as the brilliant blue sky began to fade to grey.

* * *

When Katie returned to her flat, she intended to change into robes and then go to the Ministry. She would find someone, anyone, and she would tell them what had happened and then she would be charged accordingly.

At least, that was what she had planned on doing. What she hadn't anticipated was to find Oliver at her door, and her heart sank, remembering the arrangement they had made earlier in the week to meet up in The Leaky Cauldron for lunch.

"Hey," he said when she opened the door. "You okay?"

She groaned inwardly. "Oliver. Hi."

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked, his smile faltering a little. "Because I can always come back another time if you want."

Immediately, she felt bad, so she shook her head, gesturing inside. "No, no. Come in. I was meant to meet you — I'm sorry. I completely spaced out. Come in. I'll make you tea, if you want."

"You sure? If you have to be somewhere, I understand—"

"It's fine. I was just… about to go shopping," she lied. "But it's not anything urgent."

He raised his eyebrows, but he didn't say anything, instead nodding and following Katie into the kitchen, where she put the kettle on.

"How have you been?" she asked. "I haven't seen you in a while. Not since…" Katie trailed off, but her words hung in the air nonetheless, unspoken. She winced as she remembered Colin Creevey's funeral and Dennis walking out halfway through.

"Not great," he admitted. "We had a press conference this morning. I swear the _Prophet_ asks too many fucking questions sometimes."

"Puddlemere took you back, then?"

"Yeah. Seems they're willing to forget me walking out in exchange for me forgetting we were led by Death Eaters for months," he said bitterly. "Still, I'd pick flying over polishing glasses any day."

"God, I miss flying," she said nostalgically.

"I'll take you to practice one day, if you want," Oliver offered.

Without thinking, her automatic reply was "I'd love to," before she remembered what she had planned to do before he came in, and her smile faded.

However, Oliver seemed to have misinterpreted her, because he then said, "Don't worry if you're a bit rusty flying. We can always sort that out."

"No, it's not that. I… it doesn't matter. I can't wait — although you make sure not to sulk when I score goals." The cheeky grin crept to her lips in her unconscious decision to play along, and he raised a brow, pretending to look annoyed.

"I'll have you know, Miss Bell, that I never _sulked_. I was just very competitive. It's called team spirit."

"It's called being a petulant little kid who doesn't get what he wants, Wood," she teased back. "Mind you, when Harry was Captain, he wasn't quite as mad to win as you were. Maybe he was just too into Ginny for his own good."

"I don't know whether I should take that as a compliment or not."

"Of course it's a compliment." She blushed as his eyes lit up, and she added quickly, "Get the milk from the fridge, will you?"

Tea made, they both remained standing, Oliver leaning against the kitchen surface, Katie making a fuss of putting the milk away. Then, avoiding his eyes, she drank her tea and tried not to make a face when it was too hot and burnt her tongue, but after several moments of silence, he said, "You're very quiet."

"I have a lot on my mind," she said truthfully.

Desperate to let the words out all of a sudden, Katie opened her mouth to speak, just as Oliver said, his eyes on his shoes, "I do, too. In fact, there was something I wanted to tell—"

"Oliver," Katie interrupted, and he looked up with a weird sort of relief in his eyes, "if you did something really, really stupid, what would you do?"

He thought for a moment. "I… I suppose I would try to put whatever I did wrong right," he said eventually. "I mean, really, it depends on what it is you're talking about, how stupid it is—"

"Oh, trust me, 'stupid' doesn't even begin to cover it." _Understatement of the century,_ Katie thought.

Now he looked curious. "What have you done?" he asked.

"I… I can't say," she said, and she placed her hand on his, adding, "Sorry."

He squeezed her hand and, unconsciously, it seemed, gently traced the veins of her palm. "You know, Katie, I'll… help you. I'll try, at least."

She returned the pressure, doing the same and tracing circles on his knuckles. It soothed her slightly as she said stubbornly, "I'm pretty sure I don't need protecting."

"I know you don't. That doesn't mean I'm not going to try. And—" Pausing, he took a deep breath and then continued, "—I care about you. You know that, right? I don't know what it is you think you've done wrong, but I'm sure it's not as bad as you think it is, and I know you can put it right. Whatever happens, of course I'll support you." He let out a shaky laugh. "Shit, that sounded really cheesy, didn't it?"

"No, it didn't," Katie said. "Thank you. Means a lot."

As he nodded and waved her thanks away, she momentarily forgot about her plan to turn herself in; so badly did she want to express her gratitude to him that she pushed all other matters to the back of her mind. "No, not just that," she said, her hand now on his arm. "I mean, for everything. When I first saw you, after, what, three years of not seeing each other? You just — took me home, no questions asked. You stuck around even when I was acting like a total idiot, and a completely drunk one at that, and you know, I don't think I ever really thanked you, so… thank you."

She finished her speech somewhat lamely and looked at him more closely, wondering why he had that unusual look in his eyes. They were the most expressive eyes she had ever seen, never quite fixing on one colour: she remembered trying to pinpoint whether they were hazel or green, before coming to the conclusion that they were a light shade of brown. Right now, they were hovering between hazel and brown, settling on a pleasant amber, and it was only then that she realised that the tip of her nose was very, very close to his.

"It's not a problem," he repeated hoarsely. "Not that I did much."

It was like someone else was talking and smiling as she said, "Please, you're just fishing for compliments now."

"No," he said immediately. "You — you fixed yourself. You would've done without me there."

"Yeah, right. A-anyway, you were saying there was something you wanted to tell me?"

Shaking his head, he said, "Forget it."

"You sure?" she asked softly.

When had he got so close to her? He hadn't seemed to move at all; he was just watching her very carefully, and as if of their own accord, her lips inched closer to his. She wasn't quite sure what she was doing; after all, the last time she had kissed someone, she was drunk, in a club. Hell, she wouldn't even go so far as to call it _kissing_, more slobbering, if anything, and she certainly hadn't really cared about who she was touching, whose tongue was down her throat, whose hands were on her arse.

She cared a lot more now, even though she wasn't entirely sure what he wanted.

"No," he murmured, but as she tilted her head up, he leaned forward, their foreheads pressing against each other, and despite what he just said, he lowered his mouth to hers.

His lips were softer than she thought they would be, although his stubble rubbed roughly against her cheek. She returned the pressure, her mouth pressing onto his more insistently. He parted her lips with his tongue, but no sooner had she brought her hand to his neck did he pull away, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I'm not drunk, if that's what you were thinking," she said, rolling her eyes, and he laughed, but when she took hold of his hands, she found they were shaking. If she didn't know any better, she would have said he looked scared.

But she wanted him. Godric, she had done for a while now, she realised — and he wanted her, too. She could tell that much. She didn't think she deserved him, not in the slightest, and she knew she would regret this come morning. Of course she would. And yet he — _Oliver_ — wanted her, screwed up as she was. That in itself was enough to cloud her judgement.

He wasn't looking at her; his eyes seemed fixed on their laced fingers. She could still feel him quivering (whether with anticipation or fear, she still was not sure), but she didn't let go. "I know you're not drunk," he began. "But… you don't mind, do you?"

"Of course I don't _mind_." She tried to kiss him again, but he cupped her cheek and moved her away. "I want you," she said, not caring how desperate she sounded, and slowly, he brushed a strand of her hair away from her face, searching her eyes. She stared right back, feeling bolder than she had for a long time; he ran his finger down her cheek, stopping at her chin, and kissed her. His other hand rested on her shoulder, holding her, steadying her, while hers disappeared under his t-shirt, settling on his abdomen. At her touch, she felt his muscles tauten; he inhaled sharply, moving away, his eyes meeting hers. Neither of them spoke; so many words were heavy on Katie's tongue, for it had suddenly occurred to her that this would happen once and once only, but she did not want to say any of them. She wanted to forget, momentarily, about everything, everything except Oliver.

His hands slid down her frame to her hips as he pressed her against the kitchen surface, and she barely noticed her elbow clashing against her mug of tea. "Watch out," he muttered, and she could feel the faint hum of amusement on his lips, only just stepping out of the way in time before the warm liquid dripped down the cupboard and the linoleum tiles.

She led the way to her room, walking backwards and feeling blindly behind her for the doorknob, and all the while, her lips were on his. When, at last, she managed to open the door, she steered him over to the bed where she lifted his shirt over his head and threw it to the floor. Her legs were around his waist, her fingers light as she mapped out the contours of his torso, and he groaned into her mouth at that, kissing her harder in return. The friction from the fabric of her clothing and his bare skin tingled in a way that was delicious and infuriating at the same time, and Katie knew when he gasped, "We should slow down," that his objections were very much half-hearted.

"You don't want that."

"No," he admitted, stroking her hair and leaning his forehead against hers, "but I also don't want—"

"—to take advantage of me?" she interrupted, and she placed a rather inelegant kiss on his lips. "I'm nineteen, Oliver. Not someone you can take advantage of."

His next question, however, was more hesitant. "So you… you've been with a guy before?"

"Yes," she said slightly tersely; she did not want to be reminded of past escapades now, of all times. But as she moved her hand down to his waist, carefully undoing the buttons of his jeans, she confessed, "Honestly, though? I'm not really sure what I'm doing."

His voice sounded deeper than usual as he said, "There's not really any way you can go wrong there."

"Oh yeah?" Uncertainty disappearing entirely, her tone matched his, and her grin only widened as she pressed her hand lightly against him through his boxers.

"I think you know _exactly_ what you're doing," he breathed, managing to keep his voice steady; he reached up and kissed her, and then, taken completely by surprise, he pushed on her shoulders so he was straddling her, now, and the kiss that followed was harder, more laboured, because he was panting somewhat as he claimed her mouth with his own. She scrabbled with the rest of her clothing, which joined his in the pile on the floor, and she could feel her cheeks becoming warm under his smouldering gaze.

"I… you… fuck," he stammered, and she giggled, barely able to take in the fact that she had rendered _Oliver_, of all people, practically speechless.

"Is that supposed to translate as…" she began to say, but then she halted as he attempted, several times, to remove her bra; she reached backwards and unhooked it, letting him remove it from her, and to her surprise, he held her gaze, his eyes bright with earnestness and pure ardour. He pressed a kiss to her lips, and then his mouth left hers and she felt the slight roughness of his jaw on the crevice of her cleavage. She gasped when his tongue darted out, inking each vein of her breast, every soft crease of her upper body, and a tremor began working its way through her heart, following the molten trail his lips left around her ribcage, only stopping at her belly where it intensified into a ball of fire. Meanwhile, Oliver's thumbs lingered just where her abdomen reached her thigh, hooking around the elastic of her underwear, and at this point, he raised his head, looking askance at her.

She nodded, unable to formulate even the simplest response of "yes". He tugged her knickers down and then he dragged his palm up and down the softer flesh of her inner thigh, but nothing, nothing at all, could have prepared her for the rush of pleasure when his fingers slipped inside her, so much so that she bit down on her lip, only just restraining herself from crying out. Squeezing her eyes shut, she parted her lips a little, releasing the moan that had been simmering in her throat as he lightly pressed down. She let out a strangled sound of protest when he removed his fingers, but a moment later, his tongue had replaced them, and she arched into him, white-hot fire searing through her veins and making it difficult for her to think straight.

It was only after she reached her climax that she realised her hair was now a dark, damp tangle and that her face was drenched with perspiration, but Oliver didn't seem to care, instead kissing away the beads of sweat that formed on her jaw and then kissing her lips. She was unable to respond in kind, but when her breathing had slowed a little, she reached down to his waist to remove his boxers. Oliver covered her hands with his, and they pulled down the offending garment together before he lifted her chin up a little so they were looking directly at each other. She stared right back unblinkingly, and then, all she could see were his rich eyes, filled with burning desire and… something else (something she didn't dare name for fear she was wrong), while her nails dug into his back and his hands moved down her hips, and still, their eyes locked together, neither of them able to say a word as, slowly, tentatively, he moved above her. Oliver smelt so familiar and warm, and then, they were so close together that it was impossible for Katie to tell where she started and Oliver ended.

His face was buried in the crook of her neck, and soon, she felt him shudder, her own groan echoing in her throat matching his as they reached their climax together; she closed her eyes, her lips an inch from his (she could hear him whisper her name) and she felt his warm weight become heavier as he collapsed on top of her. Her mind was still exhilarated as he gently kissed her forehead, and he moved so they were lying beside each other on the bed. Their hands were twined, her hair sticking to her bare shoulder; after several moments during which the only sounds were their breathing, Oliver said quietly, "Katie, y-you know I…"

"C-careful," she said, and he exhaled softly, warm breath smudging her cheek. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressed them against the gently throbbing vein of her wrist.

And then he continued, his voice steadier and slowing, just like his heartbeat, "I love you, Katie."

If Katie was rendered speechless before, she wasn't sure what she could call the state of shock she was in now. "M-me?" she asked, the backs of her fingers touching his cheek. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but she said quickly, "No, don't answer that. I — I love you too."

And she did mean it. It was just that she then remembered, and her smile faded a little, wishing she could have forgotten for just a little longer, because for once, she did not want to know the whys or hows. Oliver did not seem to notice her troubled expression, and his face lit up with such radiance that when he showered her with kisses, she wished with all her heart that they could remain this way forever, their limbs tangled together, his lips burning her skin, and that she did not have to do what she had to.


	6. Chapter 6

Katie sensed Oliver's presence behind her in the kitchen the next morning, but she did not want to look at him. Katie was afraid, stupidly so, that if she met his eyes, she would remember the way they had lit up and become so _warm_, just by looking at her, and that would break her resolve. So she continued buttering her toast, her back to him, and once the kettle whistled, she started pouring the water just as she felt his large hands on her shoulders and an unexpected kiss on the nape of her neck. Even though it was not particularly cold, she couldn't help but shiver at his touch, and she leant back a little and felt his lips upturn into a smile against her skin. When his arms wound around her waist, however, Katie stiffened, and to her relief, he released her.

Attempting to spoon sugar into her mug, her hand was shaking so badly that some of the tiny white grains spilt on the surface. "Shit."

"It's okay," Oliver said, leaning over her, grabbing a damp cloth near the hob and wiping it away, apparently unaware of the effect he had on her when his chest pressed against her shoulder blade.

"It's not okay," Katie blurted out. She tried, again, to add sugar to her tea, but this time, hot tea sloshed over her fingers and scalded her skin, and she bit back tears as she mumbled, "It's anything but okay."

"What's wrong?" How was he so calm? He looked so unperturbed by her clumsiness, just as composed as he had been when he had first taken her home from The Hog's Head, when he hadn't cared about how completely out of it she was.

But maybe that wasn't quite true. At the time, anyway, she was sure he had felt disgusted towards her — she had come on to him, for Merlin's sake! He must have always pitied her. She knew that much. Maybe that was why he had slept with her last night. She wasn't sure what he felt towards her now. Fuck it, _she_ didn't even know what she felt for him, even if he had said he loved her, because that couldn't possibly be true. Oliver, lovely, caring, honest, _decent_ Oliver, would never in his wildest dreams love a murderer.

He was looking expectantly at her, still waiting for an answer, but she stared at his shoulder instead. "You really don't want to know."

"Why don't you let me decide that?" he asked, taking the mug from her, stirring vigorously and then leading the way to the living room. He waited for her to take a seat, and when she chose the sofa, he tentatively sat at the other end and placed the mug of tea in front of her. "Please tell me what's wrong. If you… if I… last night, I realise I might have been — pushy. If I was, I'm—"

"This has nothing to do with you!" she burst out. "Nothing at all. You were fine last night. More than fine. You were… this is about me, okay? Not you. Never you."

His shoulders sagged a little in relief, and he reached out, taking her hand and squeezing it. "I'm glad," he said quietly.

"No," she said before she could stop herself. "Look, I need to tell you something." He nodded, his brow crinkling a little, but Katie suddenly found it impossible to say anything further. She tugged her hand away from his on the pretext of picking up her mug of tea, and she took a sip before taking a deep breath and continuing, "I… don't think this should happen again."

"But you just said—"

"I'm fucked up, Oliver," she interrupted. And as she expected, he opened his mouth to object, but she shook her head. "No, really, I am. You don't want to know. You deserve someone — better. Not me."

To her surprise, he rolled his eyes. "We're not seriously having this conversation."

"Yes, we are!" she said angrily. "Do you have any idea how fucking hard this is for me?"

"For _you_?" Oliver shot back, suddenly so riled up that Katie was instantly reminded of when he was Quidditch Captain. "Katie, you're supposed to be a—"

"A what, exactly?" demanded Katie. "What am I _supposed_ to be?"

He faltered a little. "I thought you were… gay."

"And?"

If Katie didn't know any better, she would have thought he looked embarrassed. He was not looking directly at her, and all the anger within him seemed to dissipate into nothingness as he mumbled, "All this time, I've wanted to — I've wanted you, damn it, and I never thought in a million years that you would be interested in me because of that—"

"Seriously? I thought I made myself pretty clear at Christmas."

"You were drunk," he reasoned. "That didn't mean you felt the same way."

Katie's mouth opened in disbelief. "I kissed you! What more did you want?"

"You would've snogged the door, the state you were in," he insisted. "And then, the next day, when you said you were with Leanne…"

"What, and that's supposed to change things? Oliver, I've been with one girl. One. And yes, I loved her; of course I did, but it doesn't — how the fuck my sexuality even matters right now, I don't know, but that's not my problem at the moment. That's not what any of this is about." She hoped her cheeks didn't look as warm as they felt. "If only I could be worrying about something that stupid…"

"Fine. So why are you being like this?" he asked shrewdly. "You can't even look at me."

"I don't want to tell you." She hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face into her jeans. "I'm not joking, Oliver. You'll hate me."

"Impossible."

And then, at last, Katie snapped completely. "How can you just say that?" she yelled at him. "Can you stop being so fucking nice to me all the time? Because of all people, I'm the last person to ever deserve it. I'm so fucking easy to hate — if you only knew what I've done—"

"What have you done?" he asked for what felt like the billionth time that day.

"That I — that I killed someone, that's what!"

There. She had said it. Screamed it, more like. But still. She took in several breaths, trying to calm herself, and for want of something to do with her hands, she grabbed the mug and drained the now lukewarm tea, not even caring about its tastelessness.

"See," she said dully after a long, long moment in which he had just stared at her, not saying anything. "Told you you'd hate me."

"Wait." He spoke at last, and each word was heavy with doubt. "You're not — there must be more to it than that."

"I don't want to talk about it. You should leave. Really."

"I don't believe you," he said.

"Why shouldn't you? I've just admitted to you that — that — I don't even fucking know anymore."

"I don't believe you," he repeated, "and I won't until you tell me exactly what happened."

She couldn't stop herself. The words tumbled out of her mouth before conscious thought, and by that time, she decided she would just confess all. "It was at the Battle."

He raised his eyebrows. "Everyone killed someone at the Battle. I'm not saying it was easy to live with, but… it happens."

"This was different," she said, wincing as a lump formed in her throat.

But he didn't seem to be listening. "I killed two Death Eaters. I watched as Alicia killed three in a row after they hurt Lee. If anything, I helped her. And Harry killed You-Know-Who. It was a war. We didn't have much choice. You're not a murderer, Katie," he finished gently. "None of us are. We did what we had to do."

"You don't understand," she said shakily. "This… person… I knew her. She was… Oliver, she was on our side."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Lavender Brown." Katie winced just saying the name. "She — she died. Because of me."

She could tell he was finding it hard to speak. "What do you mean, because of you?" he managed to ask.

"I had just found F-F-Fred," she said, her voice coming out choked. "I thought he was playing some sick joke or something, because he wasn't m-moving, but I took one look at his face and I just knew. And then — and then it was just so _quiet_ and Fred was so still and so cold and I wondered what the fuck was the point anymore because I sure as hell didn't know, not with people dying left, right and centre and the one person who had actually loved me gone ages ago — anyway, I was just kneeling there, crying like a fucking baby, when I heard people. Behind me.

"And I whipped around and I barely knew what I was doing; all I could see were flashes of light, but these Death Eaters were good, because they managed to dodge it all, and then I heard footsteps behind me and I didn't even think before casting a Blasting Curse. And then I realised who it was — Lavender — and… it was like a fucking bomb went right through her chest, Oliver. You saw her." She was sobbing now, her eyes glistening with two weeks' worth of tears and guilt and pain. "And I did that. Me. Not some sick Death Eaters who wore robes and had Dark Marks and followed Voldemort. Not even the stupid Snatchers who managed to kill Leanne even though most of them were probably part Troll — no, it was _me_. I caused that. I killed her.

"I've had no idea what to do," she continued, ignoring his hand on her arm. "I know I should be locked up for this."

"Katie—"

"No, Oliver. I'm going to Azkaban," she said softly. "I accepted that pretty quickly. I just… I haven't had the courage to give myself up. Not until y-yesterday. I went to her grave. Lavender's. I saw what it did to her parents. I _know_ what it's done to me — I haven't been able to sleep since, damn it."

"It was an accident," he said firmly. "What you did, you didn't do on purpose. It was an accident," he repeated, as if would change things.

"But Lavender's dead, accident or no accident." For once, he couldn't think of anything to say in reply, and she went on, "I decided I would turn myself in. I was literally just about to leave, and then you came in. I tried to tell you. Merlin, I tried, but I… couldn't. Not when you were looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like… like I was a good person. Like I was beautiful and good and that we could be good together and that I wasn't—" She halted, breaking away from his gaze, because the overwhelming need to kiss him was becoming stronger and stronger. Instead, she said into her knees, "You made me feel… un-fucked up. And you know what? That was the nicest feeling in the world. But it can't — it _won't _happen again. Not where I'm going."

"You don't have to do this," Oliver said desperately.

"Yes I do!" she fired back. "I'm doing the right thing, Oliver."

"Fine! Fine. I'll wait for you." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Who knows, you might only—"

"You deserve better," she said resolutely. "Far better."

"But I want—"

"This isn't about what you want," Katie snarled. "You should leave."

"Katie—"

"Just go. Please."

* * *

_EX-HOGWARTS STUDENT CHARGED WITH MANSLAUGHTER_

_Katie Bell, 19, of Tower Hamlets, London, has confessed to charges of manslaughter and has been sentenced to three years' house arrest. Miss Bell, a former member of Dumbledore's Army and hospitalised just two years ago, attended her trial last week regarding her involvement in the death of Lavender Brown, also a former member of Dumbledore's Army. She is thought to be responsible for Miss Brown's death at the Battle of Hogwarts, though the circumstances have not been disclosed._

_An insider at the newly reformed Wizengamot has confirmed that the leniency of Miss Bell's sentence is due in part to her contributions and assistance with other casualties of war as well as the absence of negligence in Miss Brown's death. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, has declined to comment._


End file.
